


Fireworks

by kaci3PO



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1930s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaci3PO/pseuds/kaci3PO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can't kiss a boy, Kevin. Whoever heard of that?"</p>
<p>"My dad says that people do it. Out in California, boys kiss."</p>
<p>"Well, this ain't California, Kev."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

Kevin liked to nuzzle. It was sort of his thing, really. I learned how to nuzzle with the best of them long before I learned how to kiss or how to fuck, and that was because Kevin liked to do it so damn much.

We did that for more than a year before we kissed for the first time: sitting in my room, my back against the door so that my ma couldn't open it and catch us at it. We'd be doing homework and there Kevin would go, skinny legs flailing out to either side of my bent knees and his bony ass pressed up against my groin. He'd lick his lips and thread his fingers through the hair at the base of my neck, and then there it'd be. His forehead would press against mine and our noses would bump, clumsily at first until we found a rhythm that worked.

I never knew what to do with my hands. My arms were just as scrawny as Kevin's legs and my fingers were long, thin, and pale. I'd flutter them up and down his sides until he laughed at me, then I'd settle them on his hips and squeeze tight out of spite. He never complained though, and I knew he never would. Guess I was just stubborn to keep trying long after I knew he wouldn't give me the reaction I wanted.

I'd lose track of time while we nuzzled, mostly because it got hard after awhile to stop staring into Kevin's eyes. I told him that once and he hit me and called me a loser, so I didn't nuzzle with him for over a week.

I never felt right doing that. I'm not sure how I knew, because no one ever sat me down and told me it wasn't right to let Kevin do that, but I somehow knew it was wrong. I'd hear my parents talking about values and morals and what was wrong with the country, and I always got a feeling in my gut like somehow, they were talking about me.

I tried to tell Kevin that once, and he just laughed and said, "Brian, relax. We're not hurtin' nobody."

I told him that was a double negative and he rolled his eyes and nuzzled my nose, and that was the end of that argument.

Our first kiss wasn't until we were fourteen. There was a block party on our street and the road was blocked off to make room for all the picnic tables piled high with summertime home cooking. There were five different recipes for any food you could've imagined, and everyone—including my ma—insisted that their own recipe for mashed potatoes was the best. Personally, I thought Mrs. Henderson's were the best, but I was smart enough not to tell my mother that.

It was late in the evening when it happened. Most people had already gathered further down the street to watch the fourth of July fireworks light up the sky when Kevin pulled me underneath one of the tables.

We barely fit, all teenaged too-long limbs getting tangled and sticking out from under the red-checkered tablecloth before they were hastily tucked back under to keep our cover. It was cramped and hot and Kevin's elbow dug into my side as I hunched low to keep from hitting my head on the bottom of the table.

"I was talking to Terry Boyd earlier," Kevin had said conversationally, like we weren't under a table on a hot summer evening when we could be talking about this somewhere that wasn't so crowded and hot. "He's started going with the Weston girl, Shelly Anne."

"That so?" I'd asked. "You reckon he's just bragging? I thought Shelly Anne was interested in Bradley."

Kevin had shrugged, as difficult as that was under the table, and answered, "Guess she got over it, 'cause Terry says that he kissed her."

I'd gasped aloud and asked, "Already? Even if they are seeing each other, it's a little soon for that, isn't it? He's got to be lying, Kev."

"No, I don't think so," Kevin had answered. "He told me about it. He said her lips were real soft, like pudding."

"Pudding?"

"Yeah. I didn't ask if he meant chocolate or tapioca."

"I don't think I'd like kissing pudding-lips," I'd murmured. "That's the problem with girls, isn't it? They're all soft and…pudding-y."

Kevin had nodded seriously. "I don't think I'd like kissing pudding, either."

We were both silent for a long time after that, just sitting there and thinking about kissing and girls and what it would be like.

Then Kevin had asked, "Brian?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't think I'd mind kissing, though. If not for the pudding, I mean."

"Well, yeah, but who are you going to kiss if not pudding? If girls have pudding-lips, then—"

"I was thinking," Kevin had said, "that maybe I could kiss you."

"Me? You can't kiss me. I'm—we're—"

"Friends?"

"Boys, Kevin. You can't kiss a boy. Whoever heard of that?"

"My dad says that people do it. Out in California, boys kiss."

"Well, this ain't California, Kev. Get that idea out of your head right quick, understand?"

"It was just a thought," Kevin had muttered. "I mean…you're my best friend. Who else am I gonna kiss?"

"A girl. Pudding lips and all."

"I don't want to," Kevin had protested. "I want to kiss you."

"Well, you can't, so stop thinking about it."

"But…Bri, I think about it all the time."

Something had caught me weird about that. He said it sort of sad, his lower lip peeking out just slightly into a pout. His lips didn't look pudding-y. They looked solid and strong, like you could push yours up against them all you wanted and they'd only look better for it. Then the image of Kevin's lips bruised from being kissed too hard popped into my mind almost instantly, and I was done for.

I pulled him into a kiss and gasped into it when our mouths fitted together, his lower lip between both of mine. Our noses bumped and I nuzzled his out of too much practice-born instinct. Kevin made a soft noise in the back of his throat and gripped my arm tightly, leaving bright white thumb-shaped marks behind over my summer tan.

I didn't stop kissing him until his lips parted and I felt his tongue brush my lips, and suddenly it hit me what I was doing. I jumped back from him, hitting my head on the table in the process, and covered my mouth with my hand to hide my short scream of pain.

"You okay, Bri?" he had asked, and I nodded fiercely and waved a hand to make him shut up. He wasn't allowed to talk while my head was spinning like that, and if it weren't a rule already, I was officially making it one.

I didn't run out on him, though, which I probably should've done, all things considered. I should've ran home and avoided him for awhile until I could look at him without thinking about his lips—which had definitely not felt like pudding at all. But I didn't. I stayed until I got my breath back and then I said, "Kev, that was—we can't do that again, okay?"

He'd laughed at me. Absolutely just laughed at me, and curled his fingers around my wrist. "Yes, we can," he'd said, like the answer was that simple, and pulled me into another kiss to prove that it was.

Our mouths fitted together again, even easier than the first time, and a moan spilled from my lips. He kissed like he did everything: enthusiastic, messy, and with abandon, and his lips felt good against mine. He tasted like summer strawberries from the picnic pie and when his mouth opened against mine again, I let my tongue dip past his lips as I licked the taste out of his mouth.

I didn't know that other people did that back then. I'd never heard of a French kiss and while I understood the concept of necking, I didn't know that it involved tongues. I'd never been interested when older boys talked about taking girls out parking, so I hadn't really listened to their stories. I thought I was crazy to be putting my tongue into someone else's mouth but it felt _good_. Good like nothing ever had before, so I kept doing it. I licked every inch of the inside of Kevin's mouth and then I let him do the same to me. His tongue was slick and warm and I thought then that I'd never get used to the feeling of having his tongue in my mouth, no matter how much I liked it.

By the time we broke apart, my hands were on his shoulders and his fingers were fisted in my hair. He nipped at my lower lip once more and grinned at me, so pleased that he'd gotten his way.

"I like your lips," he said. "They're not pudding-y at all. Not chocolate, not tapioca…just lips."

I had laughed, because there was nothing else to be done for it, and answered, "Yeah. I like your lips, too."

We stayed under that picnic table for half an hour, just tangled up in each other. Sometimes we'd try kissing again, sort of testing out all these new things we'd found out our mouths could do. It was always a surprise to find a new technique and we'd gasp and moan to let each other know we were doing it well. I can still remember the sound Kevin made when I ran my tongue around the outline of his lips before dipping it inside and curling it around his. That sound got burned into my memory that day, like a suntan that never seems to fade away.

When we heard the first crack of a firework, we crawled out from under the table one at a time. Kevin went first and I sat there for another minute, trying not to panic. I had no reason to be nervous, I reminded myself over and over. No one saw us do it, and we'd be careful so that no one would. And as for Kevin…he was just as inexperienced as I was, so if I were bad, how would he know? Maybe I was the worst kisser in the world, but for whatever reason, Kevin still wanted to kiss me.

And that was enough for me to get myself together and crawl out from under the table to watch the fireworks with my best friend. Colors exploded in the sky and I felt it. I actually felt every single explosion in my chest and when I looked over at Kevin, I felt the colors, too.

It was America's birthday but I felt like it was mine, too, like somehow I'd been reborn in a non-Christian fashion. To this day, I can't explain it. It was just a kiss. Just a kiss under a picnic table on a hot summer evening with my gangly best friend, but it was one of the most important moments of my life.

The last of the fireworks popped in the sky, bright and blinding, and I smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 28 to Create, Day 6: "the world I know."


End file.
